Raw And Unedited Essay On The Homeless of Rome
I’ll use words like “sometimes” and “occasionally” quite a bit in this essay, but that’s how it is with them: it’s never guaranteed. Maybe this is a trick of theirs: they know you’ll be less inclined to give them money if they’re in the same place doing the same thing everyday. When you don’t see them, you think about them and where they are, or what they could be possibly doing otherwise. Then you see them the next day and realize nothing has changed, they’re still the same and you’re still the same. They’ve just ensured they don’t become part of the scenery and therefore easier to ignore.
You can’t help but interact with them. I don’t mean speak with them, but by looking away, you’re still acknowledging to them that you know they’re there. If you’re walking by yourself and no one is around, your eyes naturally wander from left to right, up and down. But when you see someone, not necessarily a homeless person, just someone with whom you don’t want to make eye contact, you look in a different direction. If you look down, you look ashamed, like perhaps they’re superior to you and you don’t deserve to look at them. (I’m not suggesting you actually think that, just that it can appear so). If you look to their side but in front of them, they know they’ll have to cross your line of vision, but at least you maintain more control over the interaction. If you look above them, it seems a very obvious way of ignoring someone, as a child of five might do if they don’t feel like listening to their mother’s request to finish their peas. If you look to the opposite direction, it’s obvious that you’re ignoring them, but at least provides them the opportunity to do the same and look where they wish. I’ve found the most successful course of action is to look straight ahead in the direction you want to go, like you’re on a mission and can’t be disturbed, so that way if you’re deep in thought or at least faking it well, you might actually ignore them unintentionally as you think of something else.
The ones I’ve seen on the bridge are in a group of their own. They all own several dogs, anywhere from two to five, but it’s hard to tell whether or not they’re sharing. Most don’t perform or anything (though one does try to juggle sticks on occasion), they’ll just ask you in Italian for some money and thrust their disposable cup or hat in your general direction. Some just leave their “money pots” on the ground, about six feet or so away from where they’re sitting or standing. It’s a very low-pressure form of begging: their presence is obvious, as is their situation, and anything you give will be appreciated. Many times I’ll pass by and see them reading comic books, looking deeply engaged. I wonder if they’re literate or just looking at the pictures. Some read magazines and two even write in journals. The next ones I pass on my walk home has a dog and a bottle of alcohol, normally Peroni beer, and he’ll be standing, take a few steps towards you, and ask for money. Down the street about 30 yards is a couple where the man juggles balls and the woman goes around asking for change. Sometimes there’s a violinist, and I’ll feel bad walking past him listening to my iPod. There are also a family (or a few, it’s very hard to tell once you begin ignoring them) that plays the accordion together, they have maybe three accordions and have a little jam session. One mother-son combination begs with a puppy, and they seem fairly well dressed, and I’ve only seen them a few times, so their homelessness might only have been temporary.
There are a few that might not seem to be able to find other works due to physical constraints. One man wheels himself about on a skateboard, displaying his disfigured legs prominently in front of him, cup in one hand as he jettisons himself with the other. One man hobbles around the back of the Pantheon, barely keeping himself upright on his severely malformed body. A few are without legs all together, and while their wheelchair is present, they’ve lowered themselves on the ground to accentuate their humble nature and need for assistance. One woman herself is fully functional, but carries a picture of what may be her amputated sister.
An African man sits next to a large instrument from his native country, playing it quickly as I wonder how all those sounds could be coming from that one mechanism. It’s plugged into an amplifier, but his fingers are moving along with them music, so I assume it’s his doing.
On the sidewalk is the chalk drawing by a man whose sign I believe reads something to the extent of “artist down on his luck”, shown adjacent to his tin box with a few one cent and five cent pieces and the beautiful if not simplistic chalk landscapes. He stands guard making sure no one trapes across his works of art. When he’s not there, other homeless with sit next to his sidewalk art and act like it’s their own.
A large black woman sits on a chair next to all her worldly possessions with a bilingual sign in Italian and broken English, looking left to right, waiting for people to show their generosity. From my experience, it’s difficult to want to give money to someone that isn’t entertaining, doesn’t appear handicapped, and looks well fed.
Down the street a bit is a man playing the violin with the case open, containing a few coins, a sign, and a picture of him and his wife.
The couples always make me think how love might be keeping them both alive, that they only thing they have in this world is each other.
Several women carry around well bundled, sleeping children clutched close to them, holding a cup in their hands as they approach you in close proximity for money.
The vast majority of them however sit on their legs, hands folded into prayer, and heads down. They don’t look at you, because that’s not what one does as they’re praying. Some cloth will be placed underneath their knees (they’re holding these positions for a very long time) and a cup/bowl with a picture of Jesus, Mary, or the Pope at the bottom. One woman has got to have the most convincingly pathetic look on her face, and she’ll make eye contact with me every time. I look away, but her eyes follow me until she’d have to turn her head. One time she looked away, and as I looked back at her, I noticed she had what appeared to be a fairly nice pair of sneakers. Not Air Jordans, but they were still a bit shiny and new, looked to be fairly comfortable. I wondered how poor she really was, and if maybe when she had received enough money, went out and bought one article of new clothing at a time.
Many sell rip-offs of belts, purses, bags, pens, watches, sunglasses, some sell crappy stuff like light-up earrings and UFO discs, bags of sand with googly eyes on them, soap bubble guns, quickly-aging roses, and umbrellas when its raining. At least the umbrella guys I can respect, as they’re actually serving a useful function to those without umbrellas, similarly those selling sunglasses on sunny days. The best defense I’ve found against their aggressive sales tactics is to already have their product displayed. Some cut aluminum cans into complex ashtrays and figurines like cars, motorcycles, and bikes, Chinese women will write your name in using their characters, African men sell blankets, bows and arrows, straw hats, tapestries depicting scenes from tribal life, wooden figures of men and animals. A woman on the bridge will sell with her son some Middle Eastern-looking jewelry.
As I walked by the pantheon one day, I saw two homeless people with the same disability pass each other on skateboards. They both had feet that looked overly pointed with skinny legs, a boot on their one hand acting as propeller as their other hand thrust out the money cup. I wonder if they ever talk with one another. One woman feigns pregnancy, stuffing a pillow in her shirt that makes her look disproportionate, even for an expecting mother. Another man sits down and wags the remains of his right leg, saying "Aiutame, per favore, aiutame!" I’ve also begun walking toward the more aggressive bums while ignoring them at the same time. Minor victory when they take a step back. It seems everyone feels uncomfortable in close proximity to a stranger.
Sometimes I'll want to give them tips, offer a bit of advice. For example, don't wear glasses because you'll just come off as smart, and no one believes a smart guy can't get a job. The one woman wore nice shoes. If they smell too bad, people will walk very far away from them and this means no money. There are plenty of public fountains all around Rome, it would be more than easy for them just to rinse themselves and their clothes off every once and awhile. Found out that many homeless get diabetes, since they don’t eat well enough and what they do eat isn’t healthy. So they lose a limb, and then it becomes even more difficult for them to get work.
It’s unsettling how easy it is, after only four months, to completely act like they aren’t there.
You can’t help but interact with them. I don’t mean speak with them, but by looking away, you’re still acknowledging to them that you know they’re there. If you’re walking by yourself and no one is around, your eyes naturally wander from left to right, up and down. But when you see someone, not necessarily a homeless person, just someone with whom you don’t want to make eye contact, you look in a different direction. If you look down, you look ashamed, like perhaps they’re superior to you and you don’t deserve to look at them. (I’m not suggesting you actually think that, just that it can appear so). If you look to their side but in front of them, they know they’ll have to cross your line of vision, but at least you maintain more control over the interaction. If you look above them, it seems a very obvious way of ignoring someone, as a child of five might do if they don’t feel like listening to their mother’s request to finish their peas. If you look to the opposite direction, it’s obvious that you’re ignoring them, but at least provides them the opportunity to do the same and look where they wish. I’ve found the most successful course of action is to look straight ahead in the direction you want to go, like you’re on a mission and can’t be disturbed, so that way if you’re deep in thought or at least faking it well, you might actually ignore them unintentionally as you think of something else.
The ones I’ve seen on the bridge are in a group of their own. They all own several dogs, anywhere from two to five, but it’s hard to tell whether or not they’re sharing. Most don’t perform or anything (though one does try to juggle sticks on occasion), they’ll just ask you in Italian for some money and thrust their disposable cup or hat in your general direction. Some just leave their “money pots” on the ground, about six feet or so away from where they’re sitting or standing. It’s a very low-pressure form of begging: their presence is obvious, as is their situation, and anything you give will be appreciated. Many times I’ll pass by and see them reading comic books, looking deeply engaged. I wonder if they’re literate or just looking at the pictures. Some read magazines and two even write in journals. The next ones I pass on my walk home has a dog and a bottle of alcohol, normally Peroni beer, and he’ll be standing, take a few steps towards you, and ask for money. Down the street about 30 yards is a couple where the man juggles balls and the woman goes around asking for change. Sometimes there’s a violinist, and I’ll feel bad walking past him listening to my iPod. There are also a family (or a few, it’s very hard to tell once you begin ignoring them) that plays the accordion together, they have maybe three accordions and have a little jam session. One mother-son combination begs with a puppy, and they seem fairly well dressed, and I’ve only seen them a few times, so their homelessness might only have been temporary.
There are a few that might not seem to be able to find other works due to physical constraints. One man wheels himself about on a skateboard, displaying his disfigured legs prominently in front of him, cup in one hand as he jettisons himself with the other. One man hobbles around the back of the Pantheon, barely keeping himself upright on his severely malformed body. A few are without legs all together, and while their wheelchair is present, they’ve lowered themselves on the ground to accentuate their humble nature and need for assistance. One woman herself is fully functional, but carries a picture of what may be her amputated sister.
An African man sits next to a large instrument from his native country, playing it quickly as I wonder how all those sounds could be coming from that one mechanism. It’s plugged into an amplifier, but his fingers are moving along with them music, so I assume it’s his doing.
On the sidewalk is the chalk drawing by a man whose sign I believe reads something to the extent of “artist down on his luck”, shown adjacent to his tin box with a few one cent and five cent pieces and the beautiful if not simplistic chalk landscapes. He stands guard making sure no one trapes across his works of art. When he’s not there, other homeless with sit next to his sidewalk art and act like it’s their own.
A large black woman sits on a chair next to all her worldly possessions with a bilingual sign in Italian and broken English, looking left to right, waiting for people to show their generosity. From my experience, it’s difficult to want to give money to someone that isn’t entertaining, doesn’t appear handicapped, and looks well fed.
Down the street a bit is a man playing the violin with the case open, containing a few coins, a sign, and a picture of him and his wife.
The couples always make me think how love might be keeping them both alive, that they only thing they have in this world is each other.
Several women carry around well bundled, sleeping children clutched close to them, holding a cup in their hands as they approach you in close proximity for money.
The vast majority of them however sit on their legs, hands folded into prayer, and heads down. They don’t look at you, because that’s not what one does as they’re praying. Some cloth will be placed underneath their knees (they’re holding these positions for a very long time) and a cup/bowl with a picture of Jesus, Mary, or the Pope at the bottom. One woman has got to have the most convincingly pathetic look on her face, and she’ll make eye contact with me every time. I look away, but her eyes follow me until she’d have to turn her head. One time she looked away, and as I looked back at her, I noticed she had what appeared to be a fairly nice pair of sneakers. Not Air Jordans, but they were still a bit shiny and new, looked to be fairly comfortable. I wondered how poor she really was, and if maybe when she had received enough money, went out and bought one article of new clothing at a time.
Many sell rip-offs of belts, purses, bags, pens, watches, sunglasses, some sell crappy stuff like light-up earrings and UFO discs, bags of sand with googly eyes on them, soap bubble guns, quickly-aging roses, and umbrellas when its raining. At least the umbrella guys I can respect, as they’re actually serving a useful function to those without umbrellas, similarly those selling sunglasses on sunny days. The best defense I’ve found against their aggressive sales tactics is to already have their product displayed. Some cut aluminum cans into complex ashtrays and figurines like cars, motorcycles, and bikes, Chinese women will write your name in using their characters, African men sell blankets, bows and arrows, straw hats, tapestries depicting scenes from tribal life, wooden figures of men and animals. A woman on the bridge will sell with her son some Middle Eastern-looking jewelry.
As I walked by the pantheon one day, I saw two homeless people with the same disability pass each other on skateboards. They both had feet that looked overly pointed with skinny legs, a boot on their one hand acting as propeller as their other hand thrust out the money cup. I wonder if they ever talk with one another. One woman feigns pregnancy, stuffing a pillow in her shirt that makes her look disproportionate, even for an expecting mother. Another man sits down and wags the remains of his right leg, saying "Aiutame, per favore, aiutame!" I’ve also begun walking toward the more aggressive bums while ignoring them at the same time. Minor victory when they take a step back. It seems everyone feels uncomfortable in close proximity to a stranger.
Sometimes I'll want to give them tips, offer a bit of advice. For example, don't wear glasses because you'll just come off as smart, and no one believes a smart guy can't get a job. The one woman wore nice shoes. If they smell too bad, people will walk very far away from them and this means no money. There are plenty of public fountains all around Rome, it would be more than easy for them just to rinse themselves and their clothes off every once and awhile. Found out that many homeless get diabetes, since they don’t eat well enough and what they do eat isn’t healthy. So they lose a limb, and then it becomes even more difficult for them to get work.
It’s unsettling how easy it is, after only four months, to completely act like they aren’t there.